Summary: Crowley has always been about the deal. In his line of work, before becoming the King of Hell, it was important to close a sale and make the terms in Hell's favor. After all, that's why he led Dean to Cain in the first place. But what happens when his literal mortal enemy turns out to be this biggest ally he never counted on? And what the hell is with these bloody feelings?

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Crowley scowled at the phone resting next to his drink. The little blue umbrella in his glass mocked him. He knew what he needed to do, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Especially since his idea had failed monstrously and he was about to go to the one person he could think of to help him.

Complete with his own tail between his legs and egg on his face. So to speak.

His plan had worked to a degree. Even when the naysayer in question had pointed out that it was going to be a very bad idea. Giving a hunter that much power was asking for something even Crowley could never be prepared for. But despite all this, it had worked. The hunter had gotten rid of the thorn in Crowley’s side and even better, after becoming one of his own, was working for Crowley. What could be better than a demonic hunter working for you?

Or at least that’s what Crowley had thought. It was the perfect arrangement, until it wasn’t.

With a heavy sigh he hit three on his speed-dial and waited as the phone rang.

“What,” the familiar gruff voice growled out in annoyance.

“Well, hello to you too, Feathers.”

“What do you want, Crowley. I’m busy,” the voice huffed on the other end.

“I need your help, Castiel.” Even the mere idea of asking the Angel for help made Crowley want to gag. “Squirrel has become…a liability.”

“You know where Dean is?”

Of course Castiel would be more concerned with Dean than the fact that Crowley had been put out. Crowley would like to say that the stab to the gut was due to being insulted by Castiel and nothing more.

“Yes…” Crowley sighed. “We’re not that far from the bunker really. Your hunter, while not wanting Moose to find him, can’t seem to let him go either.” Crowley found himself telling Castiel where they were. He could hear Moose in the background, saying something about needing to get more holy water and other things together. Crowley couldn’t find it in himself to care and hung up the phone. He knew that Castiel would be there before Sam.

He didn’t have to wait long honestly, before the familiar tan appeared in his peripheral vision. He turned his head to watch as Castiel sat on the stool next to him, placing his phone and what appeared to be his wallet out on the bar.

It was funny really, to watch the subtle nuances of the angel. In his current vessel, he looked like any other doltish man, fresh from work, about to enjoy an icy cold pint. One would never know that the awkward and jerky movements were that of a celestial being trying to maneuver inside a meatsuit.

Crowley chuckled. “Meaning how are things. Also a joke at the expense of your car.”

“There is nothing wrong with my preferred vehicle. And you know how things are going.” He scowled at Crowley before ordering a beer. “Where’s Dean?”

Crowley sighed. “Don’t have time for your old pal?” He took one look at the glare in Castiel’s blue eyes and could see the grace inside rolling with anger and decided to no longer push him. Sure, he may have his moments where he does enjoy messing with the angel, but he also didn’t want to be smote at the drop of a dime.

“Dean is two towns out. I had sent him to complete a contract for me. And he sent this back.” He pulled up a picture on his phone. A selfie of Dean smirking as he posed next to a corpse that had the first blade sticking out of it.

Castiel made something akin to a growling noise and slid the phone back to Crowley. “Was this your intention? To make him one of your cross-road demons?”

“I’ll have you know, I had my start there, wanker. And no, that poor bastard was the one that signed the contract. His soul was to be mine in five years. Your girl Friday there was supposed to have killed his adulterous wife. Instead, I got a contract ended in less than five hours.”

Castiel chuckled and Crowley felt insulted that his plight was treated as a joking manner. “There are worse things in life.”

Crowley looked at Castiel with a critical eye. “Oh yeah, like what,” he challenges. “You know my business is the business of getting contracts and souls. Dean is bad for business.”

“Should have thought about that before tricking a hunter into accepting the Mark of Cain.”

“You think so low of me, Castiel? I’m hurt and insulted that you think that way. I would never put our darling Dean in such a way,” Crowley tried to feign innocence then rolled his eyes when Castiel’s expression remained nonplussed. “Well, at the time it was a great idea,” he mumbled into his own glass.

“How was it a good idea? As much as I despise you sometimes, I thought you were smarter than that. You know more than anybody that if Dean or Sam Winchester have the chance, they will end you.”

“We had a common enemy. And if it wasn’t for me, your lover boy would be worm food right now thanks to your bestie Metatron.”

Castiel’s jaw clenched and Crowley could see the muscle jump at the tension. “He’s not my lover,” he said flatly.

“Yes, well that’s neither here nor there,” Crowley said with a wave of his hand. “I have a problem. You have a problem. You scratch my back. I scratch yours… yadda yadda.”

“You want my help in containing Dean?”

“Ah, you are smarter than you look.”

“Why would I help you? Maybe I’m okay with Dean finishing you off like he had with Abbadon.”

Crowley makes a shocked noise as he grabs his chest. “You wound me, Castiel. And here I thought you liked me.”

A genuine smile tugged at the corner of Castiel’s lips as he brought the bottle to his mouth. “Shut up, Crowley.”

Finding Dean should have been easier. Between having the help of Castiel and Sam looking for him, they honestly shouldn’t have taken as long as they had. Honestly though, Crowley wasn’t complaining. Something about spending time with Castiel was calming; which, given their past and the fact that they were literally mortal enemies, was…odd.

Crowley had expected to hear the usual threat from the angel about how if a single hair on Dean Winchester’s head was harmed, he would end him. Perhaps even a warning about being double crossed. But strangely, Castiel didn’t threaten Crowley.

Working with Castiel again didn’t feel as off kilter as Crowley had imagined. If anything, it felt right. It was also the first time that Crowley had noticed Castiel seemed to have relaxed around him, which was saying a lot.

They had spent weeks together, chasing leads in hopes of finding the loose cannon. Crowley hadn’t had the heart to keep everyone chasing an impossible trail and finally gave up Dean’s location to his brother.

“You still have a bit of humanity in you,” Castiel said quietly when the pair found themselves at another bar. Castiel had just gotten the confirmation text from Sam and now Crowley was waiting for the angel’s inevitable departure. Why the mere thought of the angel leaving was making him have chest pains was beyond him, but it was there and increasing with each passing moment.

“Yes, it appears that the trials had lasting effects on me as well,” Crowley answered like a petulant child. He watches as Castiel fiddles with his phone and sighs. “Shouldn’t you be helping Sam restore your sweetheart’s humanity or something?”

Castiel glanced at him before shaking his head and taking a long pull from his beer. “What,” Crowley asked.

“Why does everyone think I’m in love with Dean?”

Crowley tried not to wince at that but the apologetic look Castiel shot him said otherwise. “Well, you gave up Heaven for him. That’s a big gesture.”

“I gave up Heaven for free will,” Castiel clarified. “Based on that logic, one would assume that you’re in love with him too.”

“Don’t be. That just means that you’re more appealing,” Crowley muttered.

Castiel’s phone buzzed with another message. Crowley looked down at his hands, cradling his drink. He heard Castiel clear his throat and he knew what was going to happen before it was even spoken.

“I need to go,” Castiel said.

“Of course. The perks of being the Winchester’s personal lap dog.” He closed his eyes when he felt a touch on his upper arm but when he opened his eyes, Castiel was gone.

Oh, bloody Hell, I have feelings for an angel…

Three days had passed.

Crowley had done his best to ignore the feelings that were burrowing inside. He did his best to pretend as if it didn’t matter. Why he would even care about the stupid angel that had tried to kill him, betray him even, on multiple occasions was beyond him. He was the King of Hell after all. He didn’t need the emotional entanglements like the stupid humans who signed over their souls.

This whole feelings business was making him soft and he knew it. Especially when the last schmuck to take a deal had done it so that he could get six good years with the love of his life. As much as he tried not to, he imagined himself in the poor soul’s position. Having feelings for someone who didn’t know you existed. How pathetic was that?

Crowley wondered if he would have ever made that sort of deal. A part of him said of course not, knowing how the deals end. But there was another part of him that day dreamed. If he wasn’t the King of Hell and just some pathetic mortal. Would he have done it?

Yes

The answer came to him as a shock. Why would he ever want to subject himself to that form of torture? There was only two things Crowley loved more than himself and that was power and his beloved hound, Juliette. So why was he thinking this way?

The vibrating of his phone shook him from his thoughts. He answered it without bothering to look at the name. After all, it was bound to be either the Winchesters or his mother.

“We need to talk,” the voice on the other end, while demanding and cold, made Crowley stupidly happy to hear, if the fluttering in his stomach was any indication.

“Well, hello to you too, Feathers. What do I owe the pleasure of this phone call?”

“Crowley,” Castiel growled out and Crowley swore he did not shiver at the sound.

“Please, just meet me at the Stagg Inn. Off route sixty-six in Gallup, New Mexico.”

“What the hell are you doing there?” Crowley asked but was met with the sound of the dial tone. With a sigh and a final scratch behind Juliette’s ear, Crowley prepared himself for a visit to New Mexico.

When he arrived, Castiel was pacing in the room. Crowley watched him from the window. He almost laughed at the image and how stupid Castiel was to not close his blinds. Crowley also wondered what would have Castiel in such a tizzy, watching as he worked a hole into the flooring. He took a moment to study him. The tan coat was gone, placed over the back of one of the dinette chairs. The sleeves of Castiel’s white shirt were rolled up to his elbows and the top two buttons were undone, with the tie hanging open and loose around his neck. If Crowley didn’t know any better, he could almost pass for human.

He decided to put the other man out of his misery and made his presence known by knocking on the door.

Castiel looked… relieved? Surprised? Actually, Crowley couldn’t place the look he has on his face, but surely it wasn’t one he had expected.

Castiel stepped to the side to let Crowley in. “You came.”

Crowley inclined his head slightly, moving to sit at that kitchen table. “Well, you did say please.” He had meant to say that in jest but he was truly curious as to what was going on.

Castiel only nodded before moving towards the set of queen beds. He stopped at the one closest to the door and rummaged through a bag setting at the foot of the bed. Crowley watched as he pulled out a familiar brown cloth wrapped around an equally familiar shape.

“Is that…” Crowley asked causing Castiel to look at him and nod.

“The first blade, yes. Sam was successful in curing Dean. They handed me this for safe keeping.” He placed it on the table near Crowley.

Crowley raised an eyebrow at him. “Safe keeping? Not lodged into my chest?”

Castiel shook his head. “I promised Dean he would be the one to end you.”

“What a relief,” Crowley muttered, before clearing his throat and sitting up in the stiff chair. “Why am I here, Castiel?”

“I need your help.” Castiel sat in the chair near Crowley. “I told them that I would hide this. Until we find a way to remove the mark.”

“And how, pray tell, do you suppose I can help you?”

Castiel sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. “I need you to hide the blade. I can’t take it to Heaven. They’ll know that Dean has the mark. And if he does have the mark, the farther away this is, the better.”

Crowley nodded his understanding. “You know that taking this blade away while he is still infected with the mark is like placing a band aid on a gaping wound, right?”

“Yes, Crowley I realize that but this is our only option.” Castiel looked at him and narrowed his eyes. “Why are you being hesitant about taking the blade? I thought you would jump at the opportunity to get it out of our hands.”

“Perhaps you’ve grown on me, Castiel, like a fungus. I’m worried that you don’t know how much trouble you’re about to cause.”

“I’m about to cause,” Castiel asked incredulously. Crowley jumped back slightly at this tone as if he had been physically slapped. “Don’t you mean the trouble you caused? By leading Dean to Cain in the first place? If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have to work with you again. Go against my friends, again. If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

“Not bloody likely,” Crowley’s voice raised to match Castiel’s. “If it wasn’t the mark, it would be something else. Do us all a favor and stop acting all high and mighty for once. You know just as well as I do that Moose and Squirrel will always find some sort of trouble that would require you to be their savior and once again pull their arses out of the fire.”

“And what is so wrong with that,” Castiel asked, suddenly in Crowley’s face. “What is so wrong with having a purpose? To feel needed?”

“At what cost, Castiel? You’ll always be willing to drop everything just because they call!”

“Because that’s what friends do. That’s what the Winchesters have taught me. You are there for them to help them pick themselves up. To help them douse the flames. To heal the wounds. You do not leave friends behind. And that’s what I will continue to do.”

Crowley grabbed the blade. “Friends will get you killed, Castiel,” he said simply before leaving Castiel alone in the hotel room.

He didn’t want to admit that hearing the passion in Castiel’s voice, when he spoke of friendship and loyalty to the Winchesters, struck a chord. He knew it was jealousy. To have to bear witness to Castiel’s passion for the brothers, hurt. He was jealous and wanted to have someone, anyone really, feel that sense of loyalty for him.

Honestly, he wanted Castiel to feel that way about him and Crowley hated himself more and more for it.

The longer that Crowley sat and stewed in his own thoughts the more he began to realize that he did in fact have an interest in Castiel that went beyond a business deal. He had started to drift in his thoughts, wondering what the other man would think to a song or if he would like the particular brew of alcohol he was consuming.

He had also found himself remembering the way the air felt around him when Castiel had crowded into his space that night at the motel. The way that it crackled and surged with the celestial power contained within his meat suit. Crowley also remembered the scent that lingered, like fresh rain in the air. And the way his own meat suit stirred at the thought of having Castiel pressed against him.

Which was absurd.

These feelings couldn’t mean anything other than Crowley was lonely and in desperate need to consummate with another. Shame really, how every time he considered this, his thoughts were plagued by blue eyes.

Time passed and periodically, Castiel would call Crowley. At first it was to ensure that the blade was safely hidden. After numerous assurances that it was, the calls had changed. Occasionally, Castiel would ask for Crowley assistance on lore. Or for Crowley to help Castiel find someone. Much to Crowley’s surprise, he felt useful; it was almost as if Castiel saw him as a friend.

They were on the phone, going over possible ways to remove the mark. Crowley has enlisted the help of his mother, much to Castiel’s displeasure. Crowley had just finished mentioning a book called The Book of The Damned when Castiel swore in Enochian.

Crowley chuckled. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to do that, Feathers.”

“It’s troubled. Like how it was when he was a demon. It’s calling to me.”

Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose, trying his best to smother the jealousy. “Right, best go check on him. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Crowley?” Castiel’s concerned voice was something new for the demon and something that recently began to happen.

“I’m fine, Feathers. Go check on your hunter.”

Castiel made a noise that was akin to frustration. “It’s probably nothing. I haven’t been very useful lately.”

“You’re plenty useful. Just go check on the damned Winchesters. I have Hell to run.”

After the angel hung up, Crowley tossed his phone the side and sighed. Things had been confusing lately to say the least. While he had talked to Castiel plenty of times before, there was usually a hidden agenda for both. Sure, they’ve worked together in the past, but only to betray the other in the long run, but now… now Crowley wanted to help Castiel. Not screw him over.

He had tried to ignore his feelings, even participating in a few flings (and an orgy or two), hoping that by participating in lewd activities would erase the lingering attractions he clearly felt for Castiel. However, it never seemed to rectify itself. If anything, sex made him long for the angel more. Especially when he bore witness to the strength and power Castiel had; power he wanted to witness for himself up close.

Then every time Castiel went on a Winchester rescue mission, Crowley found himself torn between jealousy and worry which was prosperous! Crowley’s own mother tried to say that he was jealous that Castiel got to spend time with the Winchesters, but Crowley knew the truth.

It wasn’t Castiel he was jealous of.

He hadn’t heard from Castiel in over a month.

Nothing new or worrisome and yet it was. Up until that point they had spoken at least once a week, usually to seek consult from the other regarding lore for the mark and every once in a blue moon just to say hi. Crowley -- although he would be remiss to admit to anyone -- had actually enjoyed the more laid-back calls in which they didn’t talk about end of the world things.

But to not hear a word from Castiel, even a simple “I’m busy,” was stupidly sending Crowley into a panic. So, he put out feelers. Something was up and he needed to know what.

“Your majesty,” a timid voice called out to Crowley. He looked up from the paper he was reading to see the young Drexel standing before him. Crowley merely raised an eyebrow at the young demon. “There’s been talk, whisperings really.”

“About?”

“Winchester… Dean,” he hesitated. “It appears he’s gotten a bit of blood lust as of late.”

“And this concerns me?”

“He slaughtered the Stein family.”

“Bollocks,” Crowley swore. The Stein family were under his protection.

“My sources say they were after the Book of the Damned. They killed the redheaded hunter.”

Crowley pushed himself off his throne. “Did they get it?”

Drexel shook his head. “No, sir. My understanding is that your mother and the angel have it.”

“And, where are they,” he demanded.

“They have your mother imprisoned. I don’t know where the angel is. We lost him shortly after Winchester took off from Stein Mansion.”

Crowley knew exactly where Castiel would have gone. “I want you to send our best to keep an eye on Squirrel.” Crowley barked out orders as he started to leave the hall. “I can’t lose more assets because he can’t keep it in his pants. I need to take care of something. Do. Not. Summon me. I will contact you.”

“But sir?” Drexel recoiled when Crowley spun to face him.

“Are you questioning your King’s orders?”

“No, sire. Of course not.”

“Good!” Crowley spat before snapping his fingers to transport himself to the Men of Letters bunker. He was surprised to find that they hadn’t replaced the demon warding, figuring that would have been the first thing they would have insisted on doing after curing Dean.

Crowley focused on the noises and smells of the bunker. From the kitchen, he could smell the distinct burn of petrol and the copper scent of blood. There was a sound from just outside the room, a scuffling and various grunting. It was when he could hear bone on bone, he knew he had to act.

He rushed into the area in which the former residents used as a library of sorts to see not only a pile of books -- reminiscent of the piles Hitler had during World War II -- but the body of the youngest Stein family member. His prone body showed no sign of a struggle, just a single gunshot wound to the head. Crowley understood now what the source of the gasoline and blood was from but that wasn’t what made him jump into action; after all, there isn’t much that could be done for the poor bugger.

It’s the fight that was happening to the side that drew his eye.

Castiel was currently being Dean’s own personal punching bag and, whichever deity you prefered, help him, he was not fighting back. If anything, he was begging Dean to stop. For reasons beyond all logic, Crowley went from being frozen in his spot to grabbing a bloodied Castiel just as a power-hungry Dean prepared to strike Castiel with his own blade.

“Crowley,” Castiel asked, confused as to what was happening as Crowley gritted his teeth and transported them to some nameless motel.

“Are you daft,” Crowley yelled at him.

“Me?! You’re the one that placed yourself between me and-” Castiel’s mouth snapped shut as his eyes widen. “The blade. Were you hit?” He leaned against Crowley, his hands moving against the black fabric of Crowley’s suit jacket.

“Would I be standing here if I was hit by your bloody blade?” Crowley growled trying to push Castiel into a chair. “You’re far worse than I am.”

“There are places we can hit that won’t smite your kind.” Castiel gave him a look that said he was clearly not amused with the current situation.

“Just heal yourself, Feathers. I’m fine.” His shoulder was smarting but he was more concerned with Castiel.

Finally, he deposited Castiel into a chair and pulled the red silk pocket square from his coat. He could feel Castiel’s eyes on him as he moved around the room to wet the silk.

“Do you have a death wish,” he finally asked Castiel as he started to wipe up the blood from his face.

“He would not kill me.” Castiel didn’t sound as sure as he was pretending to be.

“Uh huh and I’m sure those were Abel’s famous last words.”

Castiel grabbed Crowley’s wrist, making him stop his movements. “Why were you there,” he asked Crowley.

Crowley couldn’t look at him. He knew the minute he did; all hope would be lost and that nagging feeling in his chest would take over. Instead he put the cloth in Castiel’s hand and grabbed the ice bucket.

“I’ll be back,” he said before exiting the room and slamming the door shut. Crowley wasn’t sure why he even bothered to say anything about returning. Knowing Castiel’s track record, the minute the door latched, he was sure take off. After all, that’s what they both did best.

Leaving.

Crowley was in a surly mood as he entered the main office to pay for the room that he had dropped the bloody and broken angel in before he headed to the ice machine. He knew why he was angry and who the anger should be geared towards but the only desire he could find in himself was to cure both Dean and Castiel. And the more he worked towards accomplishing that goal, the more that aggravating pit of jealousy ate away at his insides.

Stop being such a ninny and tell the bloody fool how you feel!

Oh yes because that would be so simple.

Crowley was not sure what was worse. Falling in love with an angel or fighting with himself over it.

Both seemed fair.

When Crowley entered the room again, he was surprised -- as well as pleased but that’s neither here nor there -- to see that Castiel was still there. While he had removed his familiar coats and gotten rid of the tie, he was still as tense as before. He also looked a bit like a beaten puppy, if Crowley were being honest.

Crowley set the ice bucket down and pulled the bottle of scotch out of his pocket. He always kept a small one on him for emergencies. Without a word he moved to the ensuite and grabbed a couple of hand towels.

Once he has gathered all his supplies, he started to remove his own suit jacket and winced as the cloth tugged at an obvious wound on his shoulder.

Crowley slapped his hand away. “Focus on healing yourself. Stop being daft and do as I told you.”

“I can’t. The grace… it’s not my own so it’s weakened,” Castiel admitted, watching Crowley as he poured the scotch onto a rag.

“Ah, that’s right. I had forgotten you were on borrowed time. Seems almost childish that you would allow yourself to be Winchester’s punching bag.”

Castiel hissed with the alcohol soaked rag touched his face but quickly schooled his features to glare at Crowley. “I wasn’t allowing it. I was merely trying to stop him.”

Crowley scoffed, “Right. Trying to stop him. With your face.” He shook his head, dabbing the rag over a particularly nasty gash on Castiel’s forehead. “I have to say, that idea was almost as dumb as the time you tried to pull one over on Raphael.”

“Why do you even care,” Castiel asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously at Crowley.

“Because I do! I’m not a completely soulless bastard, you know,” he snapped before breathing a heavy sigh. He lowered himself to the chair in front of Castiel. “Despite who we are and how we’re bound to me mortal enemies… I care.” Crowley’s tone was softer as he spoke, trying his best to convey just how much he cared without physically saying it.

“Because what’s better than a having a rebellious angel in your pocket,” Castiel asked bitterly.

“You’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

“Say what?”

Crowley tossed the rag onto the table near the bucket full of melting ice. “Fine. It’s quite simple. You’ve grown on me. And in the process of doing so, I have found myself caring about your wellbeing. It drives me mad not knowing how you are. If you’re okay. And this stunt,” he waved his hand at Castiel to emphasize his point, “didn’t help. I’m used to torture. Hell, I’m the bloody King of it. But what I went through… that month of not knowing...”

Castiel tilted his head at Crowley. “I didn’t realize you felt so strongly.”

“Well, now you do. So just do me a favor, yeah? Make sure you check in occasionally. I would love to know that you’re alright.”

“Interesting,” Castiel murmured, watching as Crowley busied himself once again.

“What is?”

“You. I’ve never, in my existence, seen something like you.”

“What in the world are you on about now?” Crowley asked handing Castiel a towel filled with ice.

“Your ‘bit of humanity’, it makes you different.” Crowley opened his mouth to protest but Castiel held his hand up. “I mean, I still see the demon inside your vessel. Yes, naturally it makes me want to recoil and smite you. But there’s something different there. Like a spark of a soul.” Castiel leaned closer to examine him. Crowley swallowed thickly, fighting the impulse to crush his mouth to Castiel’s.

“I just don’t know what it means,” Castiel said softly.

“You’re a bloody fool, Castiel,” Crowley said before he realized it. He knew he had to explain himself now. “When I said I care, I wasn’t lying. I’ve found myself having feelings for you. Feelings that I know cannot be acted upon no matter how much I want to.”

Castiel tilted his head, his dark brows knitting together in confusion over clear blue eyes. “Why would you not be allowed to profess your feelings? They are after all, yours. It’s up to you to decide whether or not to express them.”

Crowley’s jaw hit the floor. He was stunned that Castiel had seemed to ignore what he had said about having feelings. “Did you not hear a word I said?”

Castiel sighed and put the towel on the table. “Of course I did. Dean may have split my face open but he didn’t impair my hearing.”

Crowley stood up and threw his arms up in disbelief. “Yet, you ask me why I can’t admit that I’m falling in love with you,” he shouted. “You know why!”

Castiel looks up at him. “Is it because we’re both perceived as males? From what I’ve seen, humans are more open to homosexual relationships…”

I’ve been had, Crowley thinks and sees that Castiel is trying not to smile at the situation.

“I hate you, Castiel.” This made Castiel smile only to make him wince in pain.

“Which is it? You love me? You hate me,” he asked teasingly, watching as Crowley grabbed for the bottle of scotch. Crowley glared at Castiel before taking a large pull from the bottle. Castiel sighed, letting his shoulders fall. “I’m sorry. That was in bad taste. But I meant it, you shouldn’t have to be afraid to express how you feel. No matter who those feelings are-”

Cowley cut Castiel’s words off when he placed his hands on his face, muttering a silent prayer as he pressed his mouth to Castiel’s. He had expected to have been pushed away. Or maybe even to be smote right then and there, but that’s not what he got. Instead when his mouth met Castiel’s he felt Castiel grab his coat. After which, he was pulled down forcefully into Castiel’s lap.

One of Castiel’s hands moved to the back of Crowley’s head, the other held tightly to the black wool. Crowley’s own hands made their way to Castiel’s hair, tangling themselves as he bit down on Castiel’s lower lip, causing him to gasp and open up for Crowley.

The noises Castiel made when Crowley licked his way into his mouth are positively sinful. A part of him wondered where in the world Castiel had learned to kiss and touch with such a dominant touch, but a bigger part of him was lost in the taste and feel of Castiel. He made Castiel growl when he shifted his weight in just the right spot. Before he could rejoice in the new knowledge of what kinks Castiel apparently has, a searing pain ran through Crowley.

Blinding light was all he could see as he fells back off Castiel’s lap.

“Crowley?” He could hear Castiel calling out to him, concern in his voice as Crowley ground his teeth together, trying to breathe through the pain.

Crowley rolled his eyes again and started to unbutton his shirt. “You really know how to make a man’s nether region tingle.” He heard Castiel huff out a laugh.

Eventually Crowley had managed to get out of the button down shirt and tie. Castiel had him straddle one of the chairs and lean forward. He hissed when the scotch was poured over the wound. According to Castiel it was nothing more than a three inch gash. It was the placement over the shoulder blade was what was making it more intolerable than most.

“I have a tolerance for pain,” Crowley pointed out, taking the bottle when Castiel passed it in front of him. “This shouldn’t hurt.”

“Enochian steel. You know better than I how that affects demons.” Crowley scowled at Castiel, who ignored it completely. “You’re lucky that it wasn’t much deeper. I still don’t see why you had to get in front of the blade.”

“Seriously?” Crowley turned his head to look at Castiel. “Are you going to make me say it again?”

“I heard you perfectly fine the first time. I just don’t see why you would put yourself at risk.” Castiel carefully smoothed out the bandage before letting his hand fall slowly down Crowley’s back.

Crowley took a deep breath, before positioning himself to face Castiel. “I didn’t see it as a risk, Castiel.” He reached out and cupped Castiel’s jaw, letting his thumb gently rub against the apple of his cheeks. “I know you’re not used to someone risking themselves for you. But all I could think of was Dean making his mark and the world being with one less feathered pain in my arse.” He smiled when Castiel rolled his eyes. “Honestly, I don’t want that kind of world. I know that your loyalties lie with Heaven, just as mine lie with Hell. But I want to see where this,” he gestured with his free hand between them, “goes.”

“And if it doesn’t go anywhere,” Castiel challenged with a raised eyebrow.

“Then it was fun getting our rocks off, yeah?”

Again Castiel rolled his eyes and chuckled. “You just want me for my vessel,” he teased.

“No but I do have a bit of a wing kink,” he joked. “You really want to give this a go?”

“It appears to be the next logical step. It will take some getting used too.”

“Because you can see the demon,” Crowley asked and was surprised when Castiel shook his head.

“I mean, yes, I see the true you. But remember that spark of soul? Back when Sam did the trials?” Crowley nodded for Castiel to continue. “That’s there and it’s more enticing to look at to be honest. I just meant it will take getting used to because our families…”

Crowley scoffed. “All I have is the witch. You have Moose and Squirrel.”

“We don’t know if this will work if we don’t try.”

“Exactly.”

Castiel nodded and leaned forward. “Then, let’s try.”

Crowley smiled at that, his once cold black heart feeling warming at Castiel’s words. He knew this, whatever it is between them, wasn’t going to be easy. Many would most likely hunt them, threaten to kill them, and find anyway to destroy them. But that would be something to worry about on any other day. After all, for the King of Hell in alliance with Hell’s most wanted, that would just be another day at the office.

With the soft press of Castiel’s lips touching his again, the warmth of large hands pressed against the bare flesh of Crowley’s back, he found that he didn’t mind for what trouble may lay waiting for them. Because right now, at this point in his existence, he finally felt as if he was wanted, cherished, dare say it - loved.

I love your take on the effect that Crowley's partial humanity cure has had on him, and the way Castiel is just sort of fascinated by him... I love that you have Cas be the more dominant party... I love the way you made it fit with existing canon... Very beautifully done, I love this fic!!! <3